Choice
by Swyfte
Summary: Caught on the edge of two territories, a young she-cat is forced to choose which Clan she will live with. One shot challenge for LeafClan


The light-grey she-cat stirred as the sun rose. The first thing she became aware of was the slow, stately trickle of running water, and the whisper of a soft breeze threading through the canopy of green leaves. She blinked open her round ocean-green eyes and oushed her way out from under the bush that harboured her makeshift nest. She'd stumbled across it by chance; it was night, dark as pitch. She'd been exhausted after fleeing the Twolegplace, and had only decided to rest there when she'd fallen through the leafy shell.

Sammy stretched her legs and shook the dry leaves from her pelt. Her muscles were stiff from sleeping on the ground; kittypet beds had made her soft. Despite the internal ache, she was glad she'd run. The life of a kittypet might have suited her mother, but not her; it was too confining, restrictive. She felt imprisoned, rather than being a pet. Running away to the forest was the best decision she'd ever made.

Only, now she was hungry. Her last meal- dry, tasteless pellets with a side dish of slimy, mushy tinned meat- had been yesterday morning. Sammy had no idea how to hunt. She could hardly distinguish one scent from another, or identify the birds that flitted through the tree tops. The claws sheathed in her paws were foreign objects to her. She'd never used them, never had a reason to.

The flaws in her plan now appeared blatantly obvious.

She began the trip down to the lake. The scorching white sun promised a hot day and the gently rippling water called to her. Perhaps she could catch a fish or two- they didn't seem to be terribly smart, nor quick, creatures.

Sammy made it to the water's edge, steering clear of the Twoleg contraption that stretched over the silver water. She looked down at her contorting reflection. There wasn't much to be seen; her rounded face, pale grey pelt, eyes that muddled somewhere between sea-green and misty blue.

A sharp cry drew her attention. She looked up from the water and gasped.

Racing towards her, mouths drawn into snarls, was a literal pack of cats. Five of them, with sleek fur, bordering on the edge of plump. Sammy squeaked and pressed herself against the sandy shore. These could only be cats of the fabled Clans- who lived in the forest with no Twolegs to care for them, who ate kittypets for their supper and lined their nests with bones.

The leader halted in front of Sammy with a spray of damp sand. He was a dark grey tabby, with impossibly piercing blue eyes. He raked his gaze over Sammy's; it seemed he didn't like what he saw.

"This is RiverClan territory," he growled. The rest of the patrol drew up beside him.

"Oh," Sammy said, trying to flatten herself into the ground even further. "Sorry?"

"Yeah, you're sorry-" he snapped, before a white-pelted she-cat whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded.

"Why don't you come back to camp with us?" the white she-cat eyes were green. They looked kind.

"We'll have food for you. You look hungry," she commented. The lure of food was almost too much for Sammy. Her hollow stomach craved it, demanded it with a vengeance. Hesitantly, Sammy began to nod, and she pushed herself off the sand.

"Wait," a voice behind her growled. "Wait right there."

The RiverClan warriors bristled. Slowly, Sammy turned her head. Standing behind her were four more cats, snarling. The pale grey she-cat got the sudden feeling that she was in a very bad place.

"Timberpelt, back off. We've already claimed her," the grey tabby growled.

A brown tom, supposedly Timberpelt, stepped forward. "She's on our territory, Creekclaw," he hissed, jerking his head toward Sammy.

"Half of her. She's also on _ours_," the white she-cat snarled, gesturing, with her tail, at an invisible line in the sand, which cleaved Sammy in half.

"She's coming with us," Creekclaw added.

A pale silver tom pushed his way through the patrol to stand beside Timberpelt.

"ShadowClan needs warriors. We should take her," he insisted.

Sammy's fur prickled. Suddenly, she didn't want to go anywhere with anyone. She wasn't a piece of prey to be fought over, but she was too scared to voice her indignant thoughts.

"Wait," a black tom, on the RiverClan side, called. "Before we resolve this with a fight, I have an idea. Let _her _decide. She could spend one sunrise with us, and one at ShadowClan's camp. Then, at the third sunrise, she make her decision and go either with us, or with you."

Timberpelt paused, nodded, once, twice.

"Come with us," the black tom instructed. "You can come to RiverClan first."

_Wait!_ she cried inwardly. _Don't I get any say in this? _Yet, if it would prevent a fully-fledged fight...her paws started moving forward, towards the black tom and away from any hope she had of escaping.

The white she-cat twitched her whiskers approvingly, and before ShadowClan could protest, the former kittypet was whisked away.

...

Sammy looked at the black tom- Shadefur, she thought he was called- who only nodded encouragingly. She took another small bite and wrinkled her whiskers.

Shadefur's energetic tabby apprentice bounced up to her side.

"In ShadowClan they eat frogs!" he exclaimed, nodding sagely. Shadefur grinned at her, shaking his head and mouthing _sometimes_.

"And rats! Lots of rats, big fat rats- isn't that so gross? It makes them sick and then they all DIE."

"Um, wow," Sammy muttered, taking another bite of the fish. It wasn't _so_ bad, she supposed.

Tucked away in RiverClan's camp, surrounded by sweet birdsong and the soft bubbling of creeks, she felt safe.

The patrol had taken her to meet their leader- a pale tabby she-cat named Duststar- and then shown her around their camp. They'd begun to explain their strange ways and customs to her, most of which swept right over head. And then they told her of their ancestors- great starlit beings who prowled the sky and protected the Clans. Not from each other, however, and Sammy made sure to tell that to her self-appointed guide Shadefur.

"Birchpaw, didn't I tell you to go look after the elders' ticks?" Shadefur asked sternly. His bashful apprentice looked down at the ground, ears flattened.

"Yeah...but that's gross!" he mumbled, as Shadefur shoved in the elders' vague direction.

"So, Sammy. How do you like RiverClan?" he asked

Sammy shrugged and continued to eat. Now that she thought about it, she was hungry. Shadefur sat down next to her until she had finished.

"Can I teach you how to swim?" he asked, whiskers twitching shyly.

"In the water?" Sammy asked incredibly.

"Well, yeah. It'll be fun!" the dark tom promised. Reluctantly, Sammy agreed and let out a startled mrrow as he pushed her into the creek.

...

"Sammy? Which Clan do you choose?" Duststar asked, looking slightly nervous. The pale she-cat flicked a glance at ShadowClan's leader, a brown tom named Nettlestar.

The heavy gazes of warriors from both Clans scored her pelt.

Sammy swallowed thickly, and abruptly made her choice.

...

Dawnstorm woke suddenly, her kits snuggled contently against her belly. She had that _dream_ again, that dream of a memory.

Dawnstorm smoothed down her fur, breathing out slowly. She hadn't been Sammy for a long time- she'd left that shell of a kittypet behind when she earned her warrior name.

A cat pushed his way into the nursery. He smelt murky and marshy, and she wrinkled her nose in mock-distaste.

"Been on patrol again?" she asked in a hushed voice, licking his muzzle.

Her mate grunted. "Yeah. Didn't see much though. Remarked the borders. Couldn't sleep?"

She shrugged. "Not really," she murmured. But she knew everything was going to be alright- she'd put her old days behind her, and she looked to the ones ahead with a determined heart, her mate at her side.


End file.
